


Asking About a Scar

by Clayla



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: 5/5 friendship, Baker!Harry, F/M, M/M, Self-Harm, and makes pizza, even though boys are British, hehe, larrystylinson, louis sings, takes place in Boston
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-01
Updated: 2015-05-03
Packaged: 2018-03-26 15:26:53
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,374
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3855676
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Clayla/pseuds/Clayla
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Trigger Warning! Contains Sensitive Material!!</p>
<p>Louis makes pizza and sings, and he meets a boy at the bakery who won't stop asking about his scars.<br/>Partly inspired by the song "We are Young" by fun.</p>
<p>Takes place in Boston, even though they're British.<br/>Larry Stylinson</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Trigger Warning! This is a serious sensitive topic, and I am only using the characters as characters. I wish the best for the actual people:) Otherwise, enjoy!

The first time Louis cuts, it takes him three tries before the blade actually pierces his skin. He's read about how other people have done it by taking out the blade and making quick slashes to the wrist, but Louis couldn't get the blade out for the life of him. And, while gazing at the milky white skin above his veins, he knew he wasn't ready to bring the blade there-

Yet.

Louis props his foot up onto the toilet seat of the bathroom and grabs the cheap plastic orange razor he got at the pharmacy down the street. With Zayn out fetching groceries, the apartment is filled with the everyday soundtrack of floorboard creaks from the neighbors upstairs and the faint bustle of the Boston streets below. This time, the music is accompanied by an anxious beat as Louis' heart thumps heavily in his chest and adrenaline courses through his blood. With shaky hands, he removes the cap and positions the head of the razor right between his knee and his ankle. With a deep exhale, Louis presses the cool blade against his skin and skims it to the right-

Nothing.

Louis bites his lip, doubting if he should continue, but moves the blade an inch down, this time pressing a bit deeper and shutting his eyes, before quickly sliding it right-

And nothing.

Louis huffs in annoyance, and moves the blade above the first cut he had attempted, positioning the blade against the skin. Third time's the charm, he thinks, and this time he draws the blade ever so slowly across the skin-

And there it is.

Louis nearly jerks his hand away as soon as he feels the blade breaking through his skin, and it has a sharp and fresh tingle, almost cold. It isn't until he puts his leg back down on the cool bathroom tiles that the blood rushes back, seeping out beads of red from the cut.

_Maybe again?_ Louis contemplates, before shaking his head and sliding the cap of the razor back on, tossing it in the trash. _Just one is all you need, ___Louis thinks, and it is true, for it felt as if his faults had seeped out with his blood, leaving him fresh and renewed.

Fishing a bandage out of a drawer, Louis peels off the packaging and covers up as much of the cut as the small bandage could offer. Then he quietly eased open the door, glad to see Zayn had not come back yet, and flopped onto the couch, turning on the TV as if he had been there all along. 


	2. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!

Unlike ordinary 23 year olds, Louis doesn’t spend his Friday nights wasting away at a bar. No, he does way more “productive things,” such as sliding over-sized slices of cheese covered bread onto green paper plates at Harvard Square.

Please note the sarcasm.

Louis brushes away stray strands of his never behaving fringe with his forearm as he continued smearing giant spoonfuls of tomato sauce on top of the pizza’s cheese. It was, along with ridiculously over-sized slices and “exotic” flavors like pomegranate and mango, one of the oddball things that Toot’s Pizza did that repeatedly dragged in faithful customers to bypassing hipsters. Although Louis prefered a normal sized cheese pizza himself, normal wasn’t good business while crammed in Boston’s ever festive cobblestone streets. That’s how Louis feels most of the time; like the lonely cheese pizza sitting in Toot’s display case among steaming slices of pomegranate and mango.

Since it’s Friday night, Louis is in charge of making the pizza base, meaning the tedious task of spinning out dough and sprinkling it with mountains of cheese and swaths of tomato sauce. He’s pretty sure he’s reached his fifteenth pizza of the night when the new cashier, a flustered blond by the name of “Niall,” comes tearing him away from his pizza station to the front counter to “trade spots, cause I can’t take these crazy customers anymore!” And that’s perfectly _not_ fine by Louis, because nothing speaks claustrophobia like the cramped space the customers are forced to cram into while in line, staring at the fresh pizzas waiting to be served behind the display case. What’s worse, the entirety of the store is pretty much a green Louis can only define as jealous green. The shade litters the dirty tiled floor and stains the walls. The only few square feet saved from it’s green fate (Louis not included; his apron is green) is the glass wall that held the constantly open set of doors to the storefront, which was always crowded with customers gathering at the fold up tables, blocking all view of Boston’s stunning streetlamped streets, which was often the only piece of sanity Louis clung on the busy nights. 

Louis barely has time to peel off his sauce stained gloves before the next customer, gangly and curly-haired, leans against the counter, tapping his long fingers impatiently. Although Louis should be annoyed since most likely bypassing hipster wasn’t actually the one working, Louis couldn’t agree more; it was one hell of a wait just for pizza.

“Hi! What can I get you, sir?” Louis chirps, fingers poised above the register, ready to type. The man barely grumbles out an order, to which Louis strains to hear over the crowded store. It didn’t help that his voice seemed was the deep and rumblely kind, definitely not one Louis can pick up above the whirl of the blender behind him. “Sorry, what did you say, sir?” Louis asks, leaning forward. 

“Margherita.” the man states louder, looking slightly disgruntled. Louis nods, tapping a few keys on the register. “Size?” Louis asks, to which the man nods at a pizza in the display case. Louis nods, tapping in for a whole pizza. “Your pizza will be with you in ten minutes.” Louis says, ripping the receipt out of the register as the man grunted. 

“Ten minutes? Have I not waited enough?” he scoffs, snatching the receipt and stalking off to wait as Louis stares down at the register screen, before looking back up at at a middle-aged couple holding hands. He bites the inside of his cheek and smiles wide.

“What can I get you guys?”

***********************************************************************************************

Sixteen. That’s how many angry red lines Louis can make out scattered across his thigh. They count like tally marks, and Louis breathes out a sigh of content after he adds two new red parallel lines right above his knee with the double bladed razor he picked up on the way back from Toot’s. 

He stares at his reflection blankly as the mirror slowly fogs up from the shower warming up behind him. Once the water turned just right, Louis peels off his t-shirt and jeans, thick with the smell of rising yeast. He steps a foot in the shower, and cringes.

It stings. 

The warm water trickling from the shower head burn the scars on his right leg like vodka down his throat, but Louis steps all the way in nonetheless, and slips closed the shower curtain.

As he shampoos his hair, the soap runs to the red openings on his skin, making them sting even sharper. And… it’s quite pleasant. The sting from the water feels as if it is washing away his faults like poison, which lied in his very blood. 

The two newly opened cuts above his knee sting sharper than the older ones, and they feel like the rightful punishment Louis deserved for being the sucky cashier he is. Why couldn’t he have been more attentive and just hear the man from tonight the first time? The man looked more than tired, and the least Louis could have done was payed more attention. And on top of that, he told him to wait ten extra minutes after the fifteen he probably stood in line. Couldn’t he tell by the way the man’s shoulders sagged that he had a long day and needed to get somewhere? Could Louis not have told Niall to just bake the man’s pizza first to get him where he needed to be?

Louis swears that if he ever sees the man again, he will apologize, and hopefully not make it an awkward mess like he always does.


End file.
